Dancing Lessons
by la france avant de le pantalon
Summary: Courfeyrac teaches Marius to dance. Mix of book/musical/movieverse. Inspired by a tumblr post.


"No?"

"What?"

"No. Really? Honestly, Marius?"

Marius' face reddened as Courfeyrac continued his prodding.

"You never learned to dance? Pontmercy, that is surprising. Depressing, really. You should get out more, my friend."

Marius stared at the floor, still feeling Courfeyrac's eyes on him. He was seated at the desk in Courfeyrac's apartment, Rue de la Verrerie, No. 16-into which he, himself had recently moved-and Courf was leaning back in a chair by the window. In fact, he was leaning back so far that two of the chair's legs hovered off the ground, and Marius worried the evening would end with him fetching Joly to stitch Courf's head back together.

"I wish you wouldn't tip your chair like that," Marius mumbled, attempting to change the subject, but Courfeyrac plowed on with his denouncement of his new roommate's abilities.

"You've finally found yourself a lady, and you don't even know how to impress her. Tsk, tsk."

Marius smiled despite himself at the mere mention of Cosette. He had only seen her a few times, had only talked with her briefly, but oh, he was smitten. Positively enraptured. He lost himself in thoughts of the gleam in her eyes, the softness of her voice, the way she moved gracefully through a crowd, practically floating. In times like these, when Marius would drift away to some otherworldly realm, he would often reach in his pocket and clasp Cosette's handkerchief. Often, he would kiss it or hold it near to his face, taking in her scent. But Marius did not get so far as his pocket before Courfeyrac snapped him out of his trance.

"Get up," he commanded.

Marius met his friend's eyes, still slightly dazed. "Excuse me?"

"Up. It's high time you learned."

"Wha-No. No, I don't think…"

"No excuses. The secret's out now. Marius Pontmercy, hopelessly struck by Cupid's arrow, stands ill-equipped in the art of wooing. And that, my friend, is something that must be remedied immediately!"

Marius remained seated and fumbled with some of the papers he had previously been translating. "Courfeyrac, really. Must you be so dramatic? I have work to do. I can't-"

"Oh, yes you can." The legs of Courfeyrac's chair rejoined the ground with a thud as he bounded to his feet and crossed the room, pulling Marius out of his own seat.

Once he had wrangled Marius to the middle of the room and pushed back unnecessary clutter, Courfeyrac sighed. "I honestly am in disbelief, Marius. You've never danced? Not even a waltz?

Marius blushed once again. "No. Of course not! Have you?"

"Waltzed? Sure. Don't look at me like that. It'll catch on." His friend looked doubtful. "Anyway, the Quadrille it is, then. Hmm, this would be so much easier with more people, but I suppose we'll have to start somewhere. Stand over there, opposite me."

Marius obeyed, grudgingly, and took his place across the room, facing Courfeyrac.

"Right then. You're going to take a step for each number I say. Come toward me, and pass on my right." He paused, gathering his thoughts before deciding to abandon his first instructions. "No, no, this won't work. We'll have to be partners. Take my hand."

"What? No."

"Come on, Pontmercy, you moved in here saying, 'I have come to sleep with you.' Holding my hand should hardly scandalize you," Courfeyrac pointed out with a mischievous smirk as he watched Marius' face color for the third time within the hour. He grabbed his friend's hand before the stunned young man had a chance to decline.

Both facing the window, they stepped on Courfeyrac's count. "One. Two. Three. Four. And turn. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Now. You. Face. Me," he continued in rhythm. "Good! Now we're going to take four steps to the side. You go right. I go left."

"What kind of steps?"

"Steps, Marius. With your feet. You're thinking too much. Except do a little crossover on the last step."

"See?" Marius said with a slight air of victory. "See, it isn't so simple. I have to cross over."

"Just watch me. One. Two. Three. Four. What. Are. You. Doing?" Courfeyrac managed to get out before bursting into laughter.

"I'm doing what you did!" Marius insisted. "Just what you said! You...you bent your knees, so…"

"I curtsied, Marius. Because I'm the lady."

"You're what?"

"Well, how else am I to teach you the gentleman's part? I'm the lady! I'm Cosette!"

By now, Marius was chuckling as well. "You're no Cosette."

"Oh, come now, Marius," Courfeyrac teased, batting his eyelashes and heightening his voice. "Aren't I all you ever dreamed of?"

"Oh, stop." Marius shoved his friend playfully, but Courfeyrac recovered his balance, his face suddenly growing determined.

"Do you truly love her?" he asked.

"I adore her. You know I do."

Courfeyrac smiled. "Then let us get back to work. And don't curtsy this time."

"Courfeyrac, what are we doing here so early?" Marius asked a few nights later at the Musain. "Enjolras isn't even here yet."

He was right. They had arrived astoundingly early, which was quite uncharacteristic of Marius in particular. The upper floor of the cafe still held some stragglers who would have been gone by the time Les Amis usually showed up.

"Nothing, Marius. I just thought some of our friends could offer their services to help you, that's all."

Marius' eyes narrowed. "Help me with what, exactly?" he asked, his voice brimming with suspicion.

Courf sighed. "You know we need more people to help you learn a proper Quadrille."

"No. No, no, no, Courfeyrac. You said it would just be between the two of us. You said-"

"Bonjour, mes amis! How are you this fine evening?" Courfeyrac exclaimed, greeting Combeferre, Joly, and Bossuet as they entered the room. The last of the other patrons vacated, put off by Courfeyrac's noisiness, as planned.

"Hello, Courfeyrac," Combeferre replied in a much quieter tone. "Is Enjolras here yet?"

"No, which is perfect," Courf said, bouncing with energy, "because we're helping Marius learn the Quadrille!"

"Marius can't dance?" Bahorel inquired, feigning shock, as he entered the room accompanied by Grantaire.

"I am aghast," Grantaire added, dropping into a seat next to Marius and throwing an arm around his shoulder. Marius could smell the absinthe that was perpetually on his breath.

"Let me guess, you've already had a few drinks? Or a few dozen?" Marius said, attempting to tease Grantaire and take the focus off his own embarrassment.

"Let me guess," Grantaire countered, "you've been skulking around Rue Plumet and caressing handkerchiefs?"

Marius' face turned a deeper shade of red.

"What have you done to poor Marius?" Jehan asked as he appeared in the doorway.

"Alright, alright, enough," Courfeyrac called, climbing up on his chair and taking a very Enjolras-like stance. "Citizens, we have a very important mission tonight. It is perhaps the greatest matter we have undertaken yet! As you all know, Marius Pontmercy, our newest member and my dear friend, is in love."

A collective groan could be heard throughout the room, for they knew all too well the saga of Marius and his lonely soul.

"Yes, yes, citizens, I know," Courfeyrac continued. "It is a sad thing for a young man to be in love, practically engaged-"

"We aren't engaged!" Marius interrupted.

"-without a clue as to how to dance with his lady fair! Imagine the wedding! Why, he'll appear a fool!" Here, Courfeyrac paused for dramatic effect before making his proposition. "Unless we generously lend him our assistance. Who's with me? Who will join in our crusade?"

"Vive la Quadrille!" Jehan shouted.

"Here, here!" Joly added, nudging Bossuet to echo his agreement.

"I...don't think that would be the best idea," Bossuet pointed out. Remember the last time I tried to dance with Musichetta?"

Joly grimaced. "She couldn't move her big toe for a week. It's a wonder you didn't break it. Perhaps you had best sit this one out."

"I agree," Combeferre added. "Besides, we are here to discuss Thursday's rally, not to act foolish."

Courfeyrac crossed his arms over his chest. "When Enjolras gets here, we'll discuss. Now, Grantaire, I know you can dance. What do you say?"

"What do you think I say?"

"Fine," Courfeyrac huffed. "We have Joly and Jehan. Two couples will do nicely, and the rest of you will be jealous of our prowess on the dance floor and the women flocking to be our partners."

Bossuet and Bahorel helped push back the tables, and the four dancers soon took their places on the makeshift dance floor.

"I feel like an idiot," Marius said as Courfeyrac took his hand. "Everyone's watching."

"You've looked sillier," Courfeyrac replied. Though his intention was to reassure Marius, his approach was not entirely effective.

"Just don't curtsy, Pontmercy!" Grantaire added, raising his eyebrows as he took another swig from his bottle.

"You told them?" Marius yelped.

This was precisely when Courfeyrac deemed it best to begin counting off the rhythm. "Aaaand, one. Two. Three. Four. Please. Don't kill. Me in. My sleep."


End file.
